Page 14 of The Lover's Eye
“It is fine, really,” Isobel said.Her host had been quizzing her on the wellbeing of every body part appropriate to name.Her face burned from the cold, and she touched the tip of her nose, barely able to feel it.She caught Trevelyan smiling at her.“What?”
“Nothing.It’s just—you’ve a bit of snow …” He reached out a newly ungloved hand.
Isobel’s muscles tightened, not in apprehension, but out of a divine anticipation that was entirely out of her control.He was about to touch her.Face, hair, hat, she didn’t know—when someone cleared their throat sharply.
The pair turned at once.The aged butler was standing nearby, made nearly imperceptible by the shadows flanking the glass doors.“Pardon me, my lord, but there are some estate matters that require your attention.”
“Certainly,” Trevelyan said.He gave Isobel a last, quizzing look.“I shall see you at dinner, Miss Ridgeway?”
She nodded, finding it impossible not to smile back at him.She watched his tall frame recede as he took long strides away from her, his boots resonating on the tile.
Mr.Finch did not follow immediately, but remained standing in the half-light, staring at Isobel.When at last her gaze met his, all feeling of lightness dimmed.
She got the distinct impression that her pleasure was distasteful to him.The sharp glint of his eyes, his rigid posture, the hard set of his jowl, all seemed to communicate his blatant disapproval of her.
A chill ran down the length of her arms.Or was it herwithLord Trevelyan that he disapproved of?
6
Isobel lay beneath the cover of the fourposter bed, staring dumbfoundedly at the gold drapery.Her body was betraying her.
She used to wonder if she was even capable of feeling attraction, but dinner with Trevelyan had cleansed her of any remaining doubts.They had spoken of Aristotle, of Homer, of their favorite varieties of orchids and their favored places to walk.By the end of it, they had completely forgotten the presence of the staff wavering tiredly by the sideboard, as well as the total absence of a chaperone—or anyone else who might have tempered the passionate height their conversation reached.
When after dinner Trevelyan had asked her if she wished to see the library, Isobel had said no.An admirable show of will, really.For the first time in her life, Isobel didn’t trust herself.
The intellectual conversation, so foreign and affirming, paired with an extra glass of claret and those dratted blue eyes left her frightened.Isobel knew if she went into that library she would do something stupid.Probably become an outrageous flirt and try to kiss him, only to wake up mortified the next day.
Even now, lying in bed, she felt vulnerable.The trouble had never been with her, but with her limited scope of living.She had looked at courtship and marriage in one light only, a haze carefully curated by the adults around her: wife to Elias Sempill, or wife to none.The room to dream had not been there at all.To envision a marriage that would be a union, a safe place where her voice would have worth and merit, was like making a scintillating discovery.It was a goal worth desiring.
Butnotwith Lord Trevelyan.Only chance brought them together, and tomorrow, it would separate them.He was a solitary man, and the only woman he had ever considered marrying was gone.
♦
Isobel awoke to fine rays of sunlight the next morning, strong enough to warm the glass panes of her window.Melting slush dripped from the roof, and the few holes burning through the snow revealed a reviling mud slush.
Betsey brushed out Isobel’s long, thick hair.“’Tis a good thing, your leaving for Shoremoss Hall today.”
“Of course it is, I am quite desperate to at last lay eyes on Marriane.”Isobel turned back a moment later, her eyes narrowing.“Why do you say it as a scold?”
“I seen the way you were lookin’ last night.You’ve got atendrefor the earl after just one day.”
Isobel scoffed.
“Know I don’t blame you, ’fore you get in a fuss,” Betsey interjected.“He’s a handsome man, and you a girl seldom allowed in company.But it ain’t right, your spending all that time alone, especially—” Her small, thick fingers paused mid-brushstroke, and she abandoned the task in search of hairpins.
“What?”Isobel asked.
The word became her refrain as Betsey, shaking her head, continued to search for the pins.“It just ain’t right, as I said!”she insisted on a firm whisper.
Isobel turned full around in her chair, gripping the back of it in her hands.“You know something.I can see it in your eyes.You’ve never been any good at keeping secrets.”Betsey pulled a face.“It’s the truth, and a quality I rather like in moments such as this.It allows me to insist you share what you learnt.”
The maid looked around in nervous habit, finding only the empty bedchamber for company.“There’s idle talk, is all.”
Isobel’s jaw set angrily.
Betsey lowered her voice another increment.“Some of the earl’s staff, well they says his missing bride might not be dead after all.”
Whatever Isobel had been expecting, it wasn’t this.Her blood cooled.Aurelia.When she was with Trevelyan, she could almost forget, but there was always something to force a reminder over her.
